


Vegetarian Dining

by DisaLanglois



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisaLanglois/pseuds/DisaLanglois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur is hungry, it becomes Merlin's problem to find him something to eat.  Anything will do.</p><p>Directly inspired by Season 3, Episode 13, but no spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vegetarian Dining

> “Oh, believe me, you’re eaten far worse. I mean, I’ve definitely served you things that I would never have touched, but you wolfed them down, no problem.”  
> Merlin, Season 3, Episode 13.

  


The fire Merlin lit with his magic was just big enough to warm their hands. He sat down opposite Arthur, and they both extended their palms to the welcome warmth.

For a moment they sat together, just the two of them in the night, and then…

“I’m hungry,” Arthur said.

“Me too,” Merlin said.

“No, I mean, I’m _really_ hungry.”

“What’s the difference between hungry and really hungry?”

“I’m really, _really_ hungry. My stomach is completely hollow.”

“Yes, Arthur, that’s what hungry usually means.”

Arthur looked at him sharply. Was that sarcasm? No, it didn't seem like it. Merlin was gazing serenely into the fire. “Can’t you see if there is anything to eat? Anything will do. I can’t sleep if I’m hungry.”

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t. I’m a noble, you know. We aren’t used to going hungry.”

Merlin looked at the fire, smiled to himself, and said, “Hm.” He climbed to his feet. “I’ll see what I can find,” he promised, and walked away toward their horses.

A minute later, he came back. He walked up to the firelight, and held out his hand. “Here,” he said. “You can have this, if you’re hungry.”

‘This’ was half a loaf of bread. Merlin offered it gingerly, at arms length, as if feeding a treat to a strange animal that might nip.

Arthur’s stomach tightened at the sight of it, but noble princes did not leap at food like starving wolves, even if they wanted to. “Where did you get that?”

“Er – from my saddlebag. You can use it better than I can. You're a noble, after all.”

Arthur still hesitated, and Merlin jiggled the bread temptingly. “Go on, take it.”

Gingerly, he took it, tore out a corner, and stuffed it into his mouth. It was dry, and tasted oddly yeasty, but right now it was heavenly. He tore off more pieces, gulping it down. “Thank you,” he mumbled through his full mouth.

“You’re welcome,” Merlin said, standing watching him eat it with his head on one side, so that one ear was noticeably higher than the other.

Arthur was hungry. Preoccupied with stuffing himself with food, he was almost finished before he noticed that contemplative expression. He stopped short, as realization struck. “Your horse wasn’t carrying saddlebags this morning,” he said. He stared at the remains of the loaf in his hand with suspicion. “Where did you get this?”

Merlin put his hands behind his back, demurely, and rocked idly on his heels. “Would you believe me if I said I just found it, lying around?”

“No, I do not believe you just found it lying around!” Arthur pressed his fingers over his lips, and held the bread up in front of his eyes to examine it more closely. From close up, it still looked like bread. He spoke between his fingers. “What did you just feed me?”

Merlin sighed, and shook his head. “All right, it’s not bread. I conjured it up.”

“Merlin! I guessed that! What … did … you … just _feed_ me?”

“Well, it’s … you know, you’re eaten it before, and it didn’t do you any harm, so really...”

“You’ve fed me stewed rat in the past, Merlin! What is this? I want to know what I just ate!”

“Well,” Merlin said, and his voice took on a wheedling tone. “Can’t you just pretend it’s bread? You know, close your mind and eat it anyway? After all, it does _look_ like bread, doesn’t it? And it tastes like bread. Just pretend it’s really bread, Arthur.”

“I’m not pretending it _is_ what it _isn’t,_ if you won’t tell me what it _is!_ ”

Merlin sighed again; the long-suffering put-upon sorcerer. “Well, actually ... well, you see, it’s ... grass.”

“Grass!” He spat out the last of the bread.

“Perfectly good grass, and if it’s good enough for a horse it’s good enough for you, eh?”

“Grass!”

“Grass, yes. Nice mashed-up grass, soft enough to eat. I washed it off in the stream first, too, so it's perfectly clean. It’s not very nourishing, I admit, but it’s filling, and it’ll keep your belly full until we can get a real meal into you, and that’s what counts, right?”

“You fed me grass!” No wonder it had tasted so richly yeasty.

Merlin sat down, looking annoyed. “Look, Arthur, just pretend it’s bread. You might have a stomach ache tomorrow, but you’ll sleep with a full stomach tonight. And you’ve eaten it before, I promise. You did say you were hungry.”

“Grass,” Arthur muttered, sourly. “This is what happens when you have a sorcerer for a servant.”

“Just so. And if I wasn't, you'd still be hungry.”

It did look like bread. And it certainly was filling stuff. What he’d eaten of it already sat quite solidly inside him. He sighed deeply. “Oh, well, I’ve already eaten most of it.” He crammed the last mouthful into his mouth, and washed it down with water. “There,” he grumbled. “Happy now?”

“Very happy,” Merlin said. “I’m always happy to be a good servant.”

Arthur sat back, grumpy, but well-fed. He warmed his hands over the little fire. When he glanced up at Merlin, he saw that the other was wearing an innocent expression he knew all too well. He knew that expression, from the days before he found out that his servant Merlin was secretly a sorcerer. He hadn’t trusted that innocent expression since the day he found out. When Merlin looked as sweet and guileless as a newborn lamb, it was time to get worried.

“What aren’t you telling me, Merlin?”

“Nothing.”

“Not _nothing._ There’s something. I know that look.”

“There’s nothing. That was grass. Just grass, and nothing but grass.”

“If that was just grass, why are you wearing that look? What’s wrong with this grass?”

Merlin sprang to his feet. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced, and strode away.

“Merlin!” Arthur demanded. He jumped up as well. “What was wrong with that grass?”

“Nothing!” Merlin yelled back. He was already disappearing into the dark. “It was perfectly fresh!”

Arthur started after him, but he already knew the futility of chasing a sorcerer who didn’t want to be caught. Merlin’s voice carried back to him from a distance. “And you’ve eaten it before without noticing, lots of times, and it’s never done you any harm, so there!”

Arthur returned to the fire, and sat down. He stared at the hand that had held the bread. What was it about the act of turning grass into bread that Merlin didn’t want him to know?

He did, at least, believe that it was grass that he’d eaten. Merlin had already proven his ability to turn one substance into another, temporarily, as long as the weight and volume were roughly the same. There wasn’t much else around this camp – just the two of them, their grazing horses, and the fire.

It was another ten minutes, at least, before it occurred to him what _‘nice mashed-up grass, soft enough to eat’_ probably _was._

Merlin, wisely, chose not to come back to the camp that night.


End file.
